In And Out Of Sync

Suddenly, a bird warbles — dripping a drop of essence into the blandness — the breeze picks up the rhythm and ruffles the leaves, a familiar voice calls out to you, the mist shreds and the startling green of the stinging-nettle, sprouting out of a mud-heap, arrests you and you reconnect with life.

Life races or chugs along and quaint moments of disorientation overtake us and we find ourselves in or out of sync with life.

Midst bristling thorns and possessive leaves, obsessed by its self-exuded fragrance, blooms the prized rose — one of its kind, but alone. The world’s applause, following success and achievements, is loud and heady. But it drowns the ordinary noises that keep us grounded to reality. The sound of wet shoes squelching through the mud, the hammering of a nail into the wall, someone singing or laughing, a baby’s gurgle — these make up the background score to life. If you don’t hear them you are out of sync….

Pain, especially physical pain, has to be borne alone. Pain comes in an assortment of shapes and varying degrees of intensity. Any type of acute pain — physical or mental — can drive one to the edge of desperation; there one stands alone, poised and prepared to take the plunge and sever all ties with life. But a timely encouraging word, a fond memory, an incomplete task, love — makes us pause, ponder and propels us away from the drastic. We feel compelled to endure and accept the agony. We re-enter the ambit of life.

The spectacular moments provide the mulch and the consequent spurt of color and fragrance elate but isolate too. Ironically, wealth and success make us disdainful; wary of predators and jealousy, we barricade ourselves. Continuous misfortunes deplete our stock of endurance and leave us disenchanted. We are then not in tune with life.

It’s no platitude — you can be alone in a crowd, whether at a party, a family or public gathering. We may go through the overtures of laughing, talking and yet be out of sync with life — so lonely that we could sit down and weep. Fortunately, such moments are ephemeral. For no reason a little girl holding her mother’s hand smiles up at you, you watch an old man absorbed in flinging crumbs to fish, an inflexion in a voice cheers you and you are launched back into the flux and turmoil .

The white acanthus is in full bloom, tenderly the mother cradles her baby, a small boy ties his younger sister’s laces, a peaceful silence follows daylight’s departure — perfect cameos! We yearn to take the perfect out of its context and enshrine it where there is no diminishing and decay.

One also hankers to escape the unpleasant. It is terrible to be struck by a fatal illness, to watch a child die, see our dreams collapse. But the beautiful begonias will fade, love will lose its ardor, success will falter and the sooner we accept this the better it is. We alternate between being in and out of sync with life.